


your starlit eyes

by calcelmo



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: F/M, POV Second Person, Pseudo-Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:40:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27747637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calcelmo/pseuds/calcelmo
Summary: You are not his mother...
Relationships: Nyx/Zagreus (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 25





	your starlit eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [patos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/patos/gifts).



> For the one I love!
> 
> [Title from The Great Divide by The Shins]

You are not his mother, but you wish you were.

His rage melts away when you take him into your arms. You have never wanted to hurt him, not even if he begged. As fog descends, realisation steals over him and darkens his mismatched eyes. Your thumb presses beneath the green, gently and lovingly, just where his skin tints. He merely blinks up at you, 

It isn’t as if mothers and sons are forbidden from sharing this kind of intimacy. Perhaps mortals spend their lives worrying over divine justice brought about by cardinal sin, but you have long since surpassed the desire for self-flagellation. 

Has Zagreus?

You smooth his raven hair back away from his forehead, watch intently the way his eyes flutter shut, and open again shining with promise. He wants this. Passion bleeds into his sweet, boyish affection. It should repel you, and yet all it brings is heat between your thighs. 

You are not his mother, but that’s what he calls you, when you bend your neck to brush your lips against his, and your hand slides over marble skin, his abdominal muscles jumping under the touch.

He’s never been passive. His fingers splay out against your face, tucking crow-dark strands of hair behind your ear. His kiss is inquisitive, sincere, with heated hands that skim your sides and settle on your hips. He tastes like sweet fruit, like pomegranate and blood and the cloying edge of rot.

What use is there for words? You know him as you know the moon, the pinpricks of light on the fabric of the night. You know his deepest desires, as they shift and morph with every beat of his heart, ticking all his time away in this labyrinthine prison. 

You disrobe. His mouth latches on at your breast while your hand finds his arousal, curling around the heated flesh. He shudders in your firm grip and his teeth graze your nipple; careless and needy. The pain of it ripples through you like a cresting tide. Nothing has ever felt so right. Your hair surrounds him like a veil as you press him closer to suckle, still touching him, still feeling him quiver and thrust his hips up into your grasp.

For once, the Prince has nothing to say. Quiet, contented, and sombre, he gives himself to you unaccompanied by his characteristic derision and bravado. It warms your chill heart to know that when it matters, he’ll fall silent. When it matters, his flippancy disappears; and you can’t imagine that anyone could not love him in this purer state.

You remember he is little more than a boy when he gasps his release. It’s only a small, dignified intake of breath, but you seize it, savour it, and trail your long nails through the mess he makes on his stomach. Your boy. Strong and handsome. He takes challenge like a sycamore takes a storm; bending supply in the howling wind.

You are not his mother, but you are his first.


End file.
